


If You Listen You Can Hear the Ibis

by YellowDistress



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Just a warning: Aunt May got Snapped, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-03-30 19:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: If Peter had survived The Snap: A Year...Inspired by @elenaafisher ‘s beautiful fic honey bee theorem (closingdoors on AO3). If you haven’t read it yet, you have to! It’s beautiful and this person was kind enough to let me write this oneshot inspired by their story! ❤





	1. Pt. I

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot follows a year in the life of Peter and Tony if Peter had survived the Snap. As stated above, it's inspired by honey bee theorem, because that beautiful wonderful fic mentions this as one of the possible alternate realities. I hope you all enjoy!!! And make sure to check out honey bee theorem if you haven't already, I swear you'll cry!
> 
> Also: Warning, Aunt May and a lot of the others got snapped, since obviously it's before things are 'fixed'.

For a long, long time it was just the three of them on that spaceship.

 

Tony realized a few days in they didn’t have long. Because the rations were not enough, and Peter’s face got thinner and thinner by the passing hours, and weeks. It took until day nine for Tony to notice Peter had been returning some of his own food to the pile with hopes that Tony was going to eat it. Tony could not remember the last time he had screamed so much at the kid, had been so angry at him – probably not since that fucking ferry boat. Probably not since – so many things. Peter’s metabolism almost killed him.

 

For some reason the kid still laughed though, laughed at Nebula learning the paper football game. Laughed at her learning ‘sarcasm’ and all that. Somehow Peter was happy, and then he wasn’t, when sleep came. When he would stare out the window – when he was meant to be resting to conserve what was left of him. Peter blinked – he would blink in this way that seemed almost lost and mournful at the same time and he would look at Tony – as if he was looking at something wholly and…just unrealistically shattered as they floated endlessly. Making steps towards their eventual…inevitable ending providing little to no solace. Peter looked not like himself, and Tony was childishly angry with it – because if they were going to die, he wanted Peter to be him.

 

“Do you think May is alive?”

 

Peter asked it – he was supposed to be sleeping. His voice was hoarse, scratchy, like he hadn’t said anything in weeks – months – years – they were only on day nineteen. Tony turned to look at him, before he grabbed the nearby blanket and tossed it over Peter’s shoulders. Nebula’s shadow clouded them from the doorway. Tony took Peter’s head in his hand, he tugged it close to speak into his ear with gentle reprimanding.

 

“Go to sleep.”

 

In retrospect, it was a way to be a coward without being one outwardly. Tony could not console Peter about May when he could not console himself about Pepper.

 

…

 

Carol Danvers saved them, day twenty-three.

 

Peter cried for at least an hour – the entirety of the trip back to Earth. Silently…Tony had not noticed, he was so out of it, until Peter’s head had fallen into his hands and Tony had reached out, had grabbed the back of his neck, had squeezed tightly enough that maybe it had hurt Peter. But the kid had inhaled shakily – had looked at him with hollow eyes. Tears had fallen, fragile, upon a starved face. Peter just kept apologizing and Tony didn’t know what for – but ‘I’m sorry’ had to be muttered at least a dozen times during their little tow truck ride home.

 

“I’m sorry – I put the food in your bag yesterday and I lied about it.”

 

Tony thought he was angry, but he only told Peter he forgave him.

 

…

 

They had lost.

 

Life was not the fairy tale of winning and winning and winning – like it had been in the past, against Loki, against Ultron. Against. Further down the line maybe they would win again, but Tony could not imagine winning after that. But there was a small victory when Pepper wrapped her arms around his shoulders and when she squeezed him tightly enough to take his breath away. When he reassured her he was okay, when Peter was handed to Steve, to lean heavily against, but the kid refused to be carried and started then – asking about May.

 

They did not know May Parker, it would take time to find out.

 

The screaming came after that – after Tony had made sure Peter had been hooked to an IV, after arguing the kid could not sit in during their meeting – after, but Peter still got to sit in there somehow, but his eyes were not excited to be surrounded by heroes, they were unseeing, staring into a distance, anxious a little, waiting for news on May. Tony tried to make himself eat, but Steve was there – Steve was pissing him off, and the yelling came. It came violently, unremorseful – full of transitions that he could not see.

 

“Bunch of tired old mills! I got nothing for you, Cap! I got no coordinates, no clues, no plan, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust.”

 

“ _Liar_.”

 

He watched the kid flinch visibly in the corner. Awareness returned to those wide orbs, horror. Watching Tony Stark have a tangible meltdown was enough to snap him into reality in a way he had not seen for weeks. Peter sat forward slightly, mouth opening, a hand grabbed the kid’s shoulder. Tony figured it would be okay – he was too angry to stop. He ripped – and tore open – ablaze and malnourished, and Peter was alone in the corner, besides the hand. Tony was not a father, and he could be angry if he wanted to be. They had _lost_.

 

Tony had known they would.

 

Together – it did not work – they had been smothered out before they had even had the chance to prosper, and Peter – _God, kid stop looking at me like that, stop, stop, stop, this guy right here, he didn’t fucking listen to me, God I hope your aunt is alright, you can’t be alone_ – would not look away. A small price, and bargain. He had been allowed to keep the boy, but the world was gone. If Peter’s world was gone, Tony decided this gift was too much to handle. He had been allowed to _keep_ Peter – but at what cost? Fate had damned them, but had gifted him, and he wanted to know when the other shoe would drop.

 

“You hide.”

 

Tony could not remember after that, but Peter had screamed loud – and it was the first time in a while he had heard him above a whisper.

 

…

 

May Parker was missing.

 

As was half of the planet.

 

Ned Leeds was missing.

 

As was half of the planet.

 

Michelle Jones was missing.

 

As was half of the planet.

 

Tony noticed Peter’s list, month two into their recovery when things were fresh for Peter, but not for Tony. Acceptance had come differently. Life had moved forward differently. Peter did not talk. He simply ceased to do it. Not completely mute – but close to it. Set into a line and refusing to open. He was half asleep, leaning against his bed, sitting propped up on the floor when Tony started gathering the list – the maps, bullshit if someone asked Tony. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. A part of him had died when Thanos had snapped his fingers. He was just happy to have Peter – but Peter had no one, it seemed. Tony and Pepper were trying to be _someone_.

 

Peter startled when Tony was trying to stand, trying to remove the pages and his hands shot out, his eyes widened, round and sleep threatened. Peter said nothing – spoke nothing – the silence was overbearing sometimes. Tony almost folded over the papers, to keep them out of reach and he pushed them away behind his back. Tony ordered, “Bed time, Spider-Kid.”

 

It was not a surprise when Peter said nothing, but his face turned red with frustration when he reached for the papers again – when Tony wouldn’t give them over, and desperation appeared. Peter pushed himself up, Tony fell back, and Peter shoved him over. The two of them tumbled and Peter reached again. Tony found his wrist and he squeezed, tightly, a warning to _listen_. Peter seemed to realize they were tussling over maps – pages – and he blinked, looking entirely upset with himself where he was propped onto his side.

 

“You have to stop it,” Tony said, “You have to sleep.”

 

For the first time in three days Peter spoke.

 

“You gave up.”

 

…

 

Tony knew Peter did not understand it. He didn’t expect him to understand moving forward after everything.

 

They had exhausted their options. The stones were gone.

 

Tony hadn’t lost Peter though, and some nights he woke from nightmares of what it would have been like. Those were the nights Pepper held him tighter. Then there were nights when Peter woke up, when Tony went to him in the vacant hallways. When Peter spoke – because he was half asleep, selective mutism disappeared during that fold of reality – and Peter asked _repeatedly_ where May was, and Tony _repeatedly_ told him: “I don’t know, Peter.”

 

Because he didn’t – no one knew. Some found it easier that way, others found it harder. Clint Barton certainly found it harder…Tony had been keeping up with the files.

 

It was nights likes that, when Tony realized he had escaped lucky. He had Pepper, Rhodey, Happy…He had the kid.

 

Peter had lost everything.

 

…

 

“They keep calling it a rapture.”

 

Tony startled when Peter said that. Tony was working on nailing the railing up on the back porch…A job that could have been given to one of the construction workers – blue prints finished…right on a lake. They figured it would be better…an escape, people recognized Tony in the city, they asked if the Avengers were still trying to save their loved ones. They asked too much, and the lake was quiet, and Peter hated school, hated that the faces he once saw in his hallways were gone. So he and Pepper had decided – yeah, this was best. Peter was sitting in the grass, a little lower than the porch where Tony was propped, and Tony nearly slammed the hammer down on his thumb.

 

“Huh?”

 

“At my new school,” Peter informed, “They keep calling it a rapture, Mister Stark. I wish they’d…stop.”

 

Tony noticed for the first time that day Peter’s fingers are raw from chewing the nails down. From that higher position, he blinked at them, he worried about them, then he looked into Peter’s face. But this was the most he had spoken in a while. Tony missed his voice. Tony sighed deeply, and responded, “They want explanations, kid. People are going to cope with how they want, and if that helps them then…let them.”

 

Peter swallowed, and Tony went on, “Other than that…is the school okay?”

 

A nod.

 

“Yeah uh, they have a coffee bar in the library.”

 

Tony snorted and hit his thumb, then cursed.

 

…

 

Rhodey visited a lot, when the house got finished.

 

It was weird to think the guy liked fishing and Tony hadn’t realized it in all of their years as friends. The long weekends were good, gave them something to get them off of their routine. Tony felt like that was healthy for Peter. He assumed – he didn’t know a lot about kids, he was still learning. Rhodey was really good at getting the kid to talk to them. He was really good at getting Peter to speak. Mostly by irritating him, but that day they spent near the lake the entirety of eight hours – when Peter’s cheeks were sunburned and his nose was surely going to peel, they had turned against him. Had pushed Tony into the lake, with his cellphone in his pocket.

 

In the purest form of mutiny, Rhodey turned on Peter and shoved him in as well, nearly crushing Tony.

 

…

 

“I saw Pepper’s dress.”

 

Peter whispered it, one night. Tony had been in bed, reading and Pepper was elsewhere in the house. The night before the wedding, the little ceremony they had planned, lavishness pushed aside in favor of something petite near the water. Peter had run into the room, grabbing the foot of the blankets and crawling all the way up until his head poked out in the spot Pepper usually laid. He looked like it was a huge secret. His eyes were wide – as if terrified – and Tony pushed his reading glasses further down on his nose to look over them at Peter’s face. He had the comforter pulled around his head, over him like a hood.

 

Tony hummed, “Oh yeah?”

 

Peter nodded.

 

“When that lady came by…Pepper tried it on – I saw her wearing it in the living room cause, I had gotten home from school early. She doesn’t know I saw it.”

 

Peter paused.

 

“She’s gonna look really pretty, Mister Stark.”

 

…

 

Peter was wrong.

 

Pepper wasn’t pretty: she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

Tony saw tears in Peter’s eyes when she was walking towards them.

 

…

 

Peter’s seventeenth birthday was spent in silence. Not exact silence – more so, hesitance. Movement – a birthday, the first without May and apparently one of the first without Ned Leeds. Peter didn’t want gifts. He didn’t want attention. Tony could only oblige. But Pepper made a cake – a cake with strawberry frosting and Peter blew out the candles at exactly 6:09 in the afternoon because that was when he was born. May had done that for him on his sixteenth birthday…Tony remembered…so he kept it alive.

 

The kid got a gift, even though he tried to refuse it, and his fingers that weren’t so raw anymore from biting his nails at school pulled the ribbon back and then the paper.

 

A box and inside – tickets.

 

“Europe, kid. Figured the three of us could go get cultured.”

 

Peter promised to pay attention to the history. Later Tony heard him tell Pepper is was because there weren’t many people around to hear it anymore.

 

…

 

Peter’s head was tilted up, looking into the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

 

He swiped the tear so quickly, Tony almost missed it.

 

Maybe Peter saw him looking because he tried to joke, “Can you believe a ninja turtle painted this?”

 

…

 

Peter got quiet again, during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

 

That was the first time Tony remembered telling him he didn’t have to talk to be heard.

 

…

 

New Year’s Eve, Tony walked into the living room.

 

Time Square was half empty, yet people still found a way to celebrate. The television was muted.

 

Peter had fallen asleep on Pepper’s leg. His mouth was lax, and his eyes weren’t even fluttering. Pepper placed her index finger over her lips and smiled. Tony sat on the coffee table, and they just watched the world continue to spin as another year swallowed them into 2019.

 

Tony leaned forward and pressed his lips to Pepper’s, then buried a kiss in Peter’s hair.

 

…

 

“Who you talkin’ to, kid?”

 

Tony had heard the phone ring from outside on the porch where he and Pepper were trying their best to solve a crossword puzzle and if there was something to describe being an elderly couple – it was that. Peter was speaking, back turned, but he whirled around, phone still pressed against his ear and his face blanching a bit. Peter swallowed and tilted his head as if he had done something he wasn’t supposed to.

 

“Steve Rogers.”

 

Taking the phone wasn’t…forceful. Peter gave it up easily, and Tony hesitated before pressing it to his ear. There was breathing on the other end. He supposed they both knew each other was there. Tony inhaled, and exhaled, “Hi Steve.”

 

_“Hi Tony…I wanted to call and – well…Happy New Year.”_

Peter was blinking at him. His face was hopeful – always hopeful for the Avengers to do something. To reform. To figure something out…but they had exhausted everything, it was all…gone. Tony’s life had twisted into something both mournful and happy. Tony replied, genuinely, “Happy New Year.”

 

When he hung up, Peter was quiet. So Tony ruffled his hair and looped his arm around his shoulders, recruiting his help to figure out the cross word.

 

…

 

Three days before the anniversary, Tony woke up to find Peter sleeping on their floor at two in the morning.

 

After Tony had gotten comfortable beside him on his makeshift bed of blankets, he rolled over, resting his head on his arm. Peter stared, as quiet as ever.

 

“You don’t have to talk for me to hear you.”

 

Peter nodded. The tears came so violently, Peter shook. Tony rested his chin on Peter’s head and hummed in acknowledgment of the kid’s pain.

 

…

 

That day came.

 

The memorials were packed. They did not go there. First they ate breakfast, a particular comfort food that Pepper made and she wouldn’t let Peter skip the meal like he so desperately wanted to. Tony was glad she was there – he wouldn’t have been able to say no.

 

Second, they drove to the city.

 

Third, they ordered May Parker’s favorite Thai food for lunch.

 

Fourth, they went to her favorite record shop, because they sold all of her favorites from high school, Bon Jovi and Def Leppard.

 

Fifth, they went to her favorite bakery for dinner – because cupcakes for dinner was the best idea and Mister Francois made them May’s Fudge-Heaven swirl.

 

Sixth, and final…They went to the apartment Tony had continued paying the rent for. The apartment they kept dusted, cleaned, through a service, the apartment Peter hadn’t seen in a year.

 

Tony watched him sit on the couch. Watched him pull a throw pillow to his chest. Tony watched his eyes begin to gleam, and Pepper stepped into the kitchen. Peter looked at Tony, and Tony didn’t approach because he knew Peter didn’t want him to. He knew – because he could see it – he could read him. It was loud and clear.

 

Tony mouthed silently:

 

_I hear you._


	2. Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's Perspective  
> If Peter had survived the snap: A Year
> 
> ...
> 
> Inspired by @elenaafisher ‘s beautiful fic honey bee theorem (closingdoors on AO3). If you haven’t read it yet, you have to! It’s beautiful and this person was kind enough to let me write this oneshot inspired by their story! ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of people request a pt. 2 from Peter's POV, so here you go! Hope you enjoy!

Peter could not remember ever being so hungry. Not since his metabolism had first started to speed up, after the bite, when he had not realized how much he needed to eat in order to stay alive. Living in that spaceship, being sent adrift out in the open, there was not water…Though some days he thought of lost sailors in the oceans, never to be seen again. Peter wondered what was worse: starving, running out of oxygen, or drowning. Maybe dehydration too, to top it all off and he had only realized on the eighth day that his chest was sticking out at odd angles. When he had asked Mister Stark about it, there was a long pause before he had been told it was his ribcage, that he was slowly starving to death.

 

Mister Stark left out that detail, but Peter got the hint.

 

On the good days, Peter followed Mister Stark around. On the bad days, Peter emptied his rations into Mister Stark’s bag. On the really bad days, Peter contemplated if his survival was impeding Mister Stark’s because he was using oxygen. On super, super bad days he toyed with the thought of setting himself adrift to save Mister Stark. It was not insane, it was not some sort of boy going mad on the ocean – or in space. It was this:

 

Doctor Strange had sacrificed the stone for Mister Stark’s survival.

 

There had been a reason.

 

Obviously, Peter’s survival meant nothing. Mister Stark was the one that was going to save everyone. So…it only made sense to set himself off, to go away, and he figured it would be instantaneous. He would freeze, probably…quickly. Unless his body somehow held on because of his enhancement. Then it might be a bit of a trial. Either way, that was only on the super, super bad days. Mister Stark pretended and pretended not to see the fact they were withering, but Peter knew. Nebula was quite frank about it all. She was very curt.

 

One day she caught him, putting food in Mister Stark’s rations.

 

“It will kill him if you die,” She had told him, “You aren’t doing him any favors.”

 

Peter had tucked himself away in a corner, far from her, far from anyone else. Had held his breath when the sobs had threatened to come because he felt even too weak to cry.

 

_“It’s not about me, or even him, it’s about everyone.”_

…

 

The more Peter thought it over, the stupider it sounded that he had asked why his ribs were sticking out. What was wrong? He was starving, and dying, slowly. That last day, on day twenty-three, Peter had hardly moved. Peter had barely said a word, and he was pretty sure Mister Stark had tried to speak to him at some point, but Peter had hardly responded because the world felt really messed up and so was he, out there dying. He hoped and hoped and hoped Aunt May was alive, on Earth, but he could not say anything. Not when he was so full of terror and so empty of energy.

 

When Peter first saw Carol Danvers, he had thought she was Aunt May.

 

She didn’t even look like Aunt May, but he had _thought_ she _was_.

 

Then Mister Stark did not know her, and Peter did not, and Nebula did not. Peter had cried though, had apologized over and over again – mostly because he had lied and had continued putting food in Mister Stark’s rations even after he had been caught doing so. They had scurried on the cusp of death so long he had forgotten what the hope of survival felt like and when it slammed into him like deep impact, he could not comprehend the welling in his chest. So he swallowed it down and suffocated.

 

The ride home was relatively silent, besides Peter sniffling every once in a while. Mister Stark grabbed him at one point, ordered for him to hold on because they were nearly there, and there was _hope_ now. Peter questioned one last time, turning his head to the side, because Mister Stark had ignored him before when he had asked…

 

“Do you think May is okay?”

 

Peter had lied about the food, Mister Stark had said he forgave him. The man’s eyes looked away, and he chewed his lip before he breathed:

 

“Peter, I _hope_ …”

 

Nothing else. So, Peter said nothing.

 

…

 

There was a lot of arguing when they got back. Screaming, mostly from Mister Stark. Peter had isolated himself, inside, deep down. Because they knew nothing about May and they were trying to find out but unfortunately, she was not their priority at the moment, Thanos was. Mister Stark and the screaming, the liars, calling them that and Peter felt like he needed to go somewhere, but he was too tired, and it was weird because the woman: Carol Danvers, held his shoulder despite the fact she hardly knew him.

 

Mister Stark collapsed. Doctor Banner sedated him.

 

Peter accepted the IV because he was afraid they would sedate him too. He ate the food because of that same fear, as he sat in the little room with Pepper and Mister Stark’s sleeping form. Peter wanted to shower, he just wanted to get clean, but they wanted his vitals back up before such a thing could happen, so Peter simply sat and waited. Pepper looked at him, over and over and she would smile sadly, ask if he wanted anything. Peter always said no, because he could not think of anything he wanted more than May.

 

Hour twelve, Mister Stark woke up.

 

Hour fourteen, Peter was allowed to go shower.

 

Mister Stark shaved at some point in there, Peter was given a pair of fresh clothes. People moved in silence, waiting for the Avengers to return with word of their fight with Thanos. Peter stayed silent, he said nothing, he could not. Miss Pott’s gentle hands helped him lie down, another needle was inserted in his arm with more fluids. She pulled a wool blanket over his body, and he wondered why she was being kind. But then he noticed her texting, the phonecalls she was making. There was a point where she took Mister Stark out of the room, and into the hall when he was well enough to walk.

 

Then they came back in. Mister Stark sat beside where he was lying down and somewhere inside Peter knew – he just _knew_.

 

“Peter…”

 

The words had hardly left his lips and Peter fought the urge to pull the blanket over his face. Miss Potts was standing in the doorway, her eyes were teary, Peter felt his glaze over and panic welled in his chest as it started to heave. Horror settled in, he realized what Miss Potts had been doing. Peter couldn’t sit up, he was so weak from the shower, but then he realized maybe he wasn’t just weak…that the nurse who had put the IV in, maybe she had – maybe she had done something to him, put something in it, they had _known_ , they had planned to tell him when…when…

 

“No,” Peter croaked, shaking his head and Mister Stark shut his eyes, “No, no, no…”

 

Mister Stark’s eyes opened, they were still sunken in, it had only been hours – a day hadn’t even passed. They had heard nothing. Space was vast, he wondered if they would ever come back. Pepper turned away. Peter inhaled deeply, but his mind was glazing over, the emotions felt bogged down with that feeling of drugs. Peter insisted, “No…please, please…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Mister Stark whispered, “I’m _sorry_ …she’s…”

 

Peter covered his ears.

 

He never heard what Mister Stark was going to say but he knew. Mister Stark leaned so close, trying to get him to remove his hands from his ears like a small child, vulnerable and not allowing the information to take hold. A forehead pressed to the side of his skull and there was fire within his scalp with grief.

 

…

 

The stones were gone.

 

Peter threw up when he heard, after eavesdropping.

 

Life started moving oddly fast. One would think time would slow, but it didn’t. It was as if something had snapped in Mister Stark. Something almost…mental, that Peter could not place and then Peter couldn’t speak. When Mister Stark was healthy enough, the first thing he did was fly them to the city. Peter had wanted to stay at the Compound. Had wanted to help find a way to get the stones back, but he had been sent with Pepper, his body was taking a long time to recover. Peter didn’t know why, he should have healed faster, but he wasn’t, and Mister Stark had gotten better before he had.

 

Iron Man tried. But it seemed to end so quickly…their fight to find a way to fix things. It was as if the two months passed and nothing changed, and Peter decided they had given up. That they no longer cared about the people who had been dusted, which on the inside he knew wasn’t true. It was just simpler, in his private suffering to feel that way. And he did, he felt all alone even though the entire world had lost people. The entire universe.

 

Aunt May.

 

Ned.

 

Everyone.

 

They were staying in the city, but he knew plans were changing and that they wouldn’t be there much longer. Miss Potts and Mister Stark were making arrangements he wasn’t sure about and hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to know – parts of him just wanted to ignore the impending change. Peter hid his work under his mattress, he pretended to give up too. It was a Monday, the night Mister Stark asked him to come sit at the kitchen table with him. Peter did it, because he didn’t want to argue, and malnourishment, even two months later, was leaving remnants. Anemia…Though they said it should be temporary, and he was prescribed supplements, he felt his body should have fixed itself sooner. They kept reminding him of his metabolism though. Peter was too tired to talk a lot, he was too tired to argue.

 

Peter sat down, someone had already fixed him a plate of dinner. Pepper was there, she had papers in her hands, and Peter’s brain was struggling to compute. He knew it was weird for his plate to be made for him, and he knew it was weird for them to be standing there like that, until they both sat down. Peter watched – he waited and he tried not to inwardly panic, but his brain was so muddled from staying up night after night, looking at their options, options that Mister Stark was no longer pursuing.

 

Turns out the papers were things Peter could not have thought of.

 

“Temporary guardianship…We want to sign it.”

 

Mister Stark’s voice was gentle. They were asking permission. Peter swallowed hard, and pretended not to be suffocating as he blinked. He hadn’t talked much, he wasn’t sure if his voice still worked. His head tilted to the side in silence and his chewed the inside of his mouth. The problem with their world now was that there were a lot of stranded children. Projects were being set up, everyone was doing their best, but it was hard. There wasn’t much of a legal system, they were short staffed, kids were being placed in over crowded homes and somehow it felt unfair that Peter had Tony and Pepper. He should have been one of the alone kids.

 

Peter croaked, voice hoarse from lack of use, “It’s not fair for the others, is it?”

 

“Others?” Tony sounded confused.

 

“The others…the ones who were left behind”

 

…

 

They signed the papers, but it wasn’t until late when Peter was lying in bed in that darkness that his door cracked open and a figure appeared. Peter pretended to sleep, but Mister Stark could see through his façade, he always could.

 

“It’s not about fairness anymore, Peter. It’s about what’s left.”

 

…

 

They moved.

 

They built the lake house.

 

Maybe he had been silent for too long, because they started sending him to see someone, to talk about the grief and the suffering and the wide open palms of imminent death. Peter struggled most days, but the new school was nice enough. Something he had preferred, he didn’t want to go back to Midtown. There would be no Ned Leeds roaming the hallways – he was gone and so was MJ, and even Flash. Peter’s entire existent had seemingly uprooted, but the new lake house smelled of wood – of grass and trees and the lake was calm, a stark contrast to the panic brewing in Peter in every waking hour.

 

It was after dinner one night, in the darkness that he stood on the edge of the dock and fell in.

 

It wasn’t an accident. Peter let himself sink until he was sitting on a muddy bottom. It was only a few moments later that someone was in the water with him, wrapping arms under his and pulling him to the surface. As if he needed rescuing. Mister Stark – it was always him – and he pulled him to shore where they both sputtered and gasped.

 

Hands gripped his shirt, at his shoulders as he was pulled into a sitting position.

 

“Why the hell would you do that?”

 

Peter shook his head vehemently, “I was gonna come up.”

 

“But _why_ – “

 

“It’s quiet under there.”

 

Pepper sat with him that night, for a long time…Mister Stark was too angry to watch the movie with them.

 

…

 

Colonel Rhodes came to visit the next day, and Peter had an inkling Mister Stark had called him for some sort of back up. It was fine, Peter liked him and he made good lasagna when he would visit. It was something to pull them out of their routine and Peter tricked him into doing his history homework for him – flattery could get a person anywhere. It was only until the last question was answered that Colonel Rhodes gawked at him.

 

“You little – you little shit, you’re hanging around Tony too much.”

 

Peter laughed. Underneath he was both happy, but perplexed and sorry because he had once been a lot like May and Ben.

 

…

 

They got married. Peter remembered crying.

 

He also remembered crying when they got on the plane because a part of him was afraid he would never see them again. Almost like separation anxiety, and he hated that he felt like an actual infant, tears welling as he had his hood over his head at the airport. He held them back, bit his lip as he crossed his arms in the large hoodie, watching Mister Stark adjust the baggage to hand to the man waiting to take them to the private jet. Mister Stark turned, he was smiling until he saw Peter curled in on himself, standing there.

 

“We can stay.”

 

Peter shook his head…

 

“If you don’t go, I’ll hate myself forever.”

 

His voice cracked. Tony glanced at the plane where Pepper had already boarded. He stepped forward, and Peter tried not to tremble when a hand grabbed the hood on the back of his head and pulled it forward, leaning him so the top of his head was in reach. Chaste lips met the hood and Mister Stark pulled away. Affection was skirted around, the physical kind, despite Pepper’s willingness to give it so freely.

 

Peter ground his teeth – talk – he ordered it on himself. It was what was right.

 

“I’ll miss you guys.”

 

Tony’s eyes looked pained, “You can come.”

 

Peter refused. He refused over and over, it was their honeymoon, he could suck it up for two weeks. He wasn’t a baby, and this couldn’t be separation anxiety. He was almost seventeen-years-old for Christ’s sake. Mister Stark grimaced.

 

“We’ll always come back, kid.”

 

…

 

Peter spent two weeks at Colonel Rhodes’ apartment just to avoid the silence of their house.

 

Colonel Rhodes made lasagna every night and Peter didn’t complain.

 

…

 

His seventeenth birthday came and went, along with his birthday trip to Europe.

 

Peter was surprised he actually retained a lot of the information. It was fun for him, it really was. It welcomed a freedom he hadn’t felt in some time, and it was their third night, they were in Paris, when Peter was woken in the middle of the night by speaking in the room next door. Their suite was more than Peter could ever imagine, more than he had wanted, and it smelled like something new. The sheets were softer than he could comprehend and sometimes he forgot that his guardians were billionaires.

 

Pepper’s voice was muffled by the closed door.

 

“I think he’s having fun.”

 

Mister Stark replied…

 

“He’s still sad.”

 

Peter’s stomach twisted. He was still sad, but he was also immensely happy. Peter wasn’t sure how he was supposed to express such an emotion, it felt rather convoluted. His hands slid over the sheets, and he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling as Pepper replied, sighing, “Tony, this isn’t something we can cure him of…I look at you everyday and I see the same pain…the loss of half the universe.”

 

Mister Stark’s reply was sharp, “I don’t want him to feel what I feel.”

 

She sighed.

 

“That, sweetheart, is simply preposterous. He is more like you than you will ever know.”

 

…

 

Peter fell asleep early on New Year’s Eve and missed the countdown.

 

Somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to care much.

 

…

 

Peter hadn’t meant to pick up the phone the next day when Steve Rogers had called. Truthfully, he had just thought it was a telemarketer or something, but it had nearly shocked him out of his skin to hear Captain America on the other end of the line.

 

_“Hey there Queens…Happy New Year.”_

Despite everything that had happened, the Snap, their failure to undo it – the deeply engrained fanboy within him spiraled and he stuttered over words, trying to find them and take hold as he croaked, “T-Thank you…Sir.”

 

That was about all he got out before Mister Stark took the phone for himself. Cross word puzzles and brunch outside followed, and their domestic life was potently clear that January 1st, 2019 for some reason, but he couldn’t explain why. Peter found his missing of Aunt May wasn’t intense, more so a dull sensation in the lower portion of his chest.

 

Pepper hummed, looking at the puzzle, “Eight words, reserved in speech, saying very little.”

 

Mister Stark tilted his head, “Whats it start with?”

 

“T.”

 

Peter turned from where his feet were hanging off the edge of the porch and he had half a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

 

“Taciturn.”

 

…

 

Anxiety and realization followed.

 

Sleeping on their floor.

 

Their hands comforted him, but Peter almost drowned when the anniversary approached.

 

…

 

Peter could not speak for fear he would vomit in that empty apartment.

 

No one touched him, they didn’t try.

 

The tears came, and Peter looked up at Mister Stark. A silent plea to keep distance but also wishing the ache would stop.

 

_I hear you._

Peter knew. He had always known.

 

…

 

_I stopped dying yesterday._


End file.
